


the breath I've taken and the one I must

by phoebo



Category: Football RPF
Genre: General Angst, M/M, this is quite pointless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebo/pseuds/phoebo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas was born to wear his red, he thinks. Passion and madness and curses float on his face in the middle of the field, while he shouts at his teammates to do better, his voice hoarse and his throat sore.<br/>Mario was born to wear that red too, but he does it differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the breath I've taken and the one I must

**Author's Note:**

> After the Bayern - Arsenal match. They didn't give me my monthly dose of Müllez last night so i made it up.

Thomas is young, rich and beautiful. So why can't he mask his anger with charm and temper is what Mario asks himself.

Thomas was born to wear his red, he thinks. Passion and madness and curses float on his face in the middle of the field, while he shouts at his teammates to do better, his voice hoarse and his throat sore. (He feels so alone in the green sea sometimes, biting his lip so hard they might bleed, trying to figure out why nobody's there with him).

Mario was born to wear that red too, but he does it differently. Red is calm, collected, elegant and fierce as he is.  
It looks like a different colour when Mario has it on, Thomas thinks. He craves for it (for him), his heart pounds for it, it leaves a hollow in his his throat when he's not with him on the pitch.

After the match, he knows Mario is waiting for him. He smiles from the other side of the locker room and no one seems to notice — they are too busy pretending there's something to celebrate, but Thomas can't find anything worth celebrating for.  
Everybody leaves, and even though Javi — he's already drunk, and Thomas mentally curses every single Spaniard in the world — tries to persuade him to go with them, he forces out a smile and decline politely.

Mario's smile is all long lips and loving eyes, and his hand feels incredibly light on his shoulder.  
Good game, he says. Fuck you, Thomas replies.  
Don't leave, he wants to say. Don't leave me. Fuck you, we need you. Munich needs you, you mean so much to us (to me). He wants to scream but those ninety minutes left him voiceless, so he buries his face in his chest and sighs a bit instead.

Mario gets it. He's not a fool, he knows what Thomas is thinking. He doesn't reply, thought. He doesn't have anything to say, really (he doesn't have the answer that Thomas is craving for). He lets his body speak for him, wrapping his arm around Thomas light body.

Regret has a familiar taste on his tongue.


End file.
